anna kiss

 

 

 

 

Phone Call

 

this is me bent over in half-light,

listening.

the message in electric static from the recorder

echoes through the first floor,

the wood resonating the sounds of the voice

buzz, crackle, digital hiccup,

I hear nothing in the words -

they carry no value,

say nothing,

I am not here, leave a message,

and the long beep

your voice comes through in electronic waves

snow on the television set,

a song,

followed by silence,

and then me not realizing at all what youd said

it is the lost cause, an erased murmur,

and Ive decided that my tombstone shall be inscribed

with some virtual poetry

like your words unearthed by an answering machine.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

everything here copyright anna kiss